Room 101
by Caia Caecilia
Summary: Written for Drown Malcolm Month.


Title: - Room 101

Author: - Caia Caecilia

Rating: - PG

Disclaimer: - I own nothing.

Author's Notes: - Written for Drown Malcolm Month. The quote is from "Nineteen Eighty-Four" by George Orwell.

Room 101

"_Impassively, O'Brien explains that what Room 101 contains is quite simply, "the worst thing in the world." This varies from individual to individual. For some it may be torture, fire for someone else, drowning for yet others. For each individual, Room 101 held his greatest fear. When confronted with that, courage and cowardice lose their meaning, one will do whatever one has to do to avoid the horror in Room 101 as naturally and automatically as one will grab at a rope to keep from falling."_

The first time they drowned him Malcolm had fought. Fought so hard it had taken five of them to drag him across the room towards the trough filled with water. They'd underestimated him; he wasn't six feet tall or muscle-bound so they'd though he was weak, just as thugs and bullies had all his life. After he had dropped three of them to the floor and given the other two a fine collection of bruises that they'd be nursing for days they had realised their mistake. However, eventually sheer force of numbers had overwhelmed him and he'd been dragged kicking across the room and forced down onto his knees in front of the trough. As they'd pushed his head down towards the water desperation had given him a final burst of adrenaline and he'd nearly broken free from their grasp, but they'd learnt their lesson and hadn't underestimated his strength this time. He'd gulped a lung-full of air just before his head had been forced under the water, squeezing his eyes tightly shut he'd thrashed and squirmed trying to get free. Just as he'd felt his lungs might burst from the lack of oxygen they pulled him up and coughing and spluttering he dragged in another precious lung-full of air before they'd forced his head under again.

They kept this up for what seemed to Malcolm to be hours but was probably only fifteen minutes or so before they grew tired of the game and kept his head pushed under the water. The now familiar burn of his oxygen starved lungs took on an even greater intensity and every cell in his body seemed to scream for air. His eyes flew open but all he could see were the dull metal walls of the trough through the water. The frantic thudding of his heart in his ears was drowned out by the roar of his oxygen starved blood in his veins and the muffled sounds of terror and desperation he made as he tried not to give in to his body's demand for air, for life. Eventually he lost the battle and instinct forced him to open his mouth and breathe. Water rushed into his lings and he convulsed as his body tried to expel the foreign substance. His vision began to grey out around the edges and the roar of his blood in his ears deafened him, and then Malcolm knew no more.

The second time they'd drowned him Malcolm had pissed himself in terror as they'd forced his head under the water.

The fourth time they'd drowned him Malcolm had sobbed. As he'd looked down at his reflection in the water and had seen his red, puffy eyes, snot covered upper lip and the tears which rolled down his cheeks he'd heard his father's voice hissing in his ear,

"Reed men do not cry Malcolm."

The fifth time they'd drowned him Malcolm had begged,

"Please don't...please no...Please..."

But they hadn't listened.

The seventh time they'd drowned him Malcolm he'd betrayed everything he believed in, everything he held dear, everything he loved.

"Please...I'll tell you anything...weapons yields, defences, the warp engine...Just tell me what you want...just tell me what I can say to make you stop."

But they didn't stop, and they didn't ask him any questions...they never did.

After they'd brought him back to life they hadn't dragged him back to his cell as they usually did, they'd just left him in the room, his throat on fire from where he'd retched up the water from his lungs, his chest bruised and hurting from where they'd re-started his heart. He'd tried to drag himself across the floor away from the water, but he didn't have the strength. Instead he pressed his cheek against the floor and closed his eyes letting the cold stone cool his over-heated skin and he listened to his breathing as it whistled and rattled in his chest. He knew he was drowning from the inside out as his damaged lungs had become infected and begun to fill with liquid. Repeated drowning and resuscitation had taken its toll and the fever and slow suffocation had begun days before. He was so tired and so ashamed of what he'd become, a creature driven by fear, terror making him a coward. He barely registered the sound of a fire-fight that echoed in the corridor outside the room, or the sound of a phase pistol as the lock on the door was melted away. When a cool hand brushed his wet hair off his forehead and a familiar Southern voice said,

"It's okay Mal, we're here, you're safe."

Malcolm used the last of his strength to turn away...he didn't deserve comfort or sympathy. He deserved nothing.

Author's Note :- Wow I've always wanted to write something for Drown Malcolm Month and now I have! I think there's probably a sequel here somewhere...is there a Comfort Malcolm Month?


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